


My Dear, My Dear

by ashesandflame



Series: Tales of Blood and Water (SKZ Dark Fairy Tales) [2]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Attempted Murder, Blood and Violence, But that would mean spoiling :3, Captivity, Character Death, Confessions, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Romance, Fairy Tale Retellings, Kidnapping, M/M, Nothing that wasn't in Snow White, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poisoning, Red Riding Hood Elements, Red Riding Hood!Seungmin, Slow Burn, Snow White Elements, Snow White!Jisung, The character death is more than just Jisung!, Torture, True Love's Kiss, Welcome to the world of evil stepmothers, but like, come one come all, dramatic confessions, no beta we die like jisung in this story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:34:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28129956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashesandflame/pseuds/ashesandflame
Summary: With eyes big like the universe, hair pitch like obsidian, and mouth red as rose, Jisung may as well have been crafted by a benevolent god. He behaved, at least, like there was a god's kindness in his heart. The queen, a sorry replacement for his mother, was keen to break his kindness and taint his beauty, and so Jisung had to run--run to the farthest corner of the forest and never look back at the castle he so loved.There was only one problem: The warriors living on the fringes of the forest, worshipful of the wolf and clad in blood-red cloaks, were more than willing to trade him off in exchange for peace with the queen.Jisung could only pray that their leader, Seungmin, would be kind enough to spare his life.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Kim Seungmin
Series: Tales of Blood and Water (SKZ Dark Fairy Tales) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993489
Kudos: 14





	1. The Start

**Author's Note:**

> Snow White is a prince in this book ! Because my childhood is dead and I forgot that Snow White was not a princess ! So take this tomfuckery.

“Never trust a stranger-friend;  
No one knows how it will end.  
As you’re pretty, so be wise;  
Wolves may lurk in every guise.”  
– Charles Perrault, _Little Red Riding Hood_

“Love is like death, it must come to us all, but to each his own unique way and time, sometimes it will be avoided, but never can it be cheated, and never will it be forgotten.”  
\- Brothers Grimm, _Snow White_

“And as she picked one she saw a still prettier one a little farther off, and so she went farther and farther into the wood.” – Brothers Grimm, _Little Red Riding Hood_

“It is when we are most lost that we find our truest friends.” – Brothers Grimm, _Snow White_


	2. Prologue

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, when is the day my kingdom shall fall?”

Oh, how he hated this question. The answer was always the same, no matter how many hundreds of times she asked. “When the moon bleeds blue,” he said, “and the arrow lands true.”

He had watched the queen work herself into a frenzy, collecting every available blossom whose name had variations of “moon”; having her guards shoot down diplomat after diplomat with an arrow to the heart, or brain, or throat; demanding vats of potions in every shade of blue, shoving them down the throats of whomever she had power over. He did not know what the prophecy meant, nor could he word it differently to halt her search. He was a messenger for the skies and gods—no more, no less.

Predictably, the queen threw a fit, sending the priceless ceramics atop her armoire crashing to the floor with a single, shrill shriek. Her poise meant nothing here—not when she was alone in her chambers and bared to him in all her wretched depravity.

He remembered, when he was hung on the wall in the grand foyer, to prophesize the intentions of those who set foot in the king’s castle.

But the king was dead, his first wife nothing but a memory. In their stead, this witch had stolen him from his proud mantle and planted him in her room. Hearing the same set of words several times a day, repeating the prophecy back to her each time. She never got much better at handling the news.

The problem lay here: She wished to know that her kingdom had no end. The very fact that he could answer her question made her blood boil. It was clear to see, and would be entertaining if he didn’t feel so sorry for her. What must the other rulers think of her? How often did she act out on the evil whispers in her mind, telling her to uproot the kingdom and make it wholly dependent on her?

How must the young prince feel about her?

“Mirror, mirror, there you stand,” the queen huffed, “ _who_ is the fairest in the land?”

This was new. But the answer came to him all the same, in flashes and glints. “The young prince Jisung. With his beauty none can contend; faced with his heart, few can pretend.”

He watched as a silent fury filled the lines of Her Majesty’s body, and wished that the prince had the good sense to make himself scarce before his coronation.

He had no doubt that the prince's blood would sooner decorate the floor than a crown be placed upon his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [curious cat!](https://curiouscat.qa/ahgaslayy)
> 
> [twitter!](https://twitter.com/svnsmayday)


	3. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's just a whole bunch of violence and shit here. General tyrannical ruler shenanigans. 
> 
> Also, to spare y'all confusion: "Lura" is the singular for one of the warrior people, "Luren" is plural.

It was not that Jisung hated being prince. Far from it; there was nothing he loved more than offering his people guidance, or providing aid in the plans for hospitals and orphanages. Responsibility was not a weight he shied away from.

However, he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy dressing himself down to rags; clambering up and across trees.

Birds flocked to his shoulders and stayed there as he hummed a gentle melody, painting berry juice along the rough bark before him. Occasionally he allowed one of the birds to peck one of the berries from his hands, a small burst of magenta splattering across his palm. He saw in his mind’s eye a great crash of molten against tide, searing steam billowing out from the collision. Raspberry for the fire, blueberry for the water, blackberry for the steam. His companions didn’t care nearly as much for his image as they did his leftover berries, but he appreciated their company all the same.

He did not hate being a prince, but he adored being nameless.

He looked to the castle cutting its shape into the sky, all intricate spires and carved emblems. He thought of who lived there—of the woman who paraded around in his mother’s crown; who was keen to let him rot that way, sealed away in this forest with dirt stuck to his cheek and his people’s memory of him withering away. If he so much as blinked wrong around her, she would find a way to make his death look like a tragic accident.

Leaves rustled, but there was no wind. Immediately he was smiling, turning toward the sound with a cock of his head. “Hello!”

Yellow eyes, glowing like candlelight, shrunk back against the tree trunk. Overtop her rough-cut tunic was leather, wrapped around her shoulders and arms. A skirt of furs hung around her legs, surely in preparation for the winter chill. He knew she meant no true harm, that Luren’s young never crossed over the borders for anything other than fun. His stepmother would behead this little girl if she knew that one of the warrior people was on her land. Jisung would never be able to understand his stepmother; the children never did anything more than gnaw on a sheet of bark and bat at the frantic birds. He couldn’t send someone to death for being a child. He couldn’t send someone to death at all.

“Did you need something?” he asked. “There’s a small field, just west of here, where squirrels run amok.” He offered a cheesy wink. “Easy prey, this time of year.”

Glowing eyes went wide and wonderous, before they disappeared entirely to the west. Jisung couldn’t help but smile. His heart hurt for the little squirrels who may lose their life to an overeager pup, but he knew that Luren cared about the land more than most people. They would never throw off the balance for something as trivial as hunger or restlessness.

He clasped his hands in front of him for a moment, praying for her safe return to her family.

Another rustle tore through the tranquility following the girl’s departure, though pinning down the source was near-impossible this time around. Jisung squinted his eyes, lowered himself—everything to try and see who or what had made the noise, but there was only darkening forest.

“Your Highness!”

Jisung whirled around, making sure to slip on his costume of grace and cordiality despite his rags. “Yes?”

The servant bowed, hand quivering as it came to cover his heart. “Her Majesty requests your presence.”

Swallowing down his dread, Jisung asked, “Did she say what for?”

When the servant rose, his eyes were downcast.

Resignation hit him like a wave. “I see,” he murmured. “I’ll be in shortly.”

“Your Highness—” The servant, whose name was Ryoli, as Jisung recalled, chewed on his lip. With a shake of his head, he bowed again, clearly planning an exit.

Jisung was not his stepmother. “What is it? Don’t be afraid to speak out of turn. With me, there’s no such thing.”

Ryoli forced the tension out of his body in a single sigh. His voice still wobbled as he said, “I only wished to prepare you for what Her Majesty has in store. It is not for the faint of heart, and I fear yours . . . is just that.”

Jisung smiled comfortingly at Ryoli, who seemed shaken to his core. He liked to believe his stepmother was no longer able to surprise him; there was no cause for concern.

o.O.o

But he realized, upon entering the throne room, that he had been so _terribly_ wrong.

Some referred to his stepmother as the Evil Queen. With that, Jisung had little disagreement, though there was still some; he couldn’t believe that she was completely rotten down to her core.

The sight before him told her she just might be. The copper burning his nose triggered every fighting instinct he wished he didn’t have. The sound of a woman weeping whispered into his ear the queen’s true intentions.

“Mother,” he addressed her, just as she’d asked to be, “what is this?”

The woman’s sobbing did not lessen. Jisung himself couldn’t focus on anything else but the spectacle that had gripped the court’s attention so:

A little boy, strung up by his fingers, long since passed out, with pain soaked into every inch of his face. The chandelier, delicate sterling silver and diamonds, creaked under his weight.

“This,” his stepmother sang, “is how we keep our people _in line_.”

Venom filled his mouth, begging to spill out onto the floor, but he couldn’t. If he wished to be even a quiet voice of reason in this court, he had to make sure the queen remained somewhat pleased with him.

When the boy awoke and began screeching, voice wet and torn, Jisung only dug his nails into his palm. The boy began thrashing weakly. His knuckles popped on by one, just like the sound of the berries bursting in Jisung’s palm.

Was that blood dripping down onto the floor? It looked an awful lot like a rose, blooming like summer’s first bud, grown in sunlight of screams and soil of loneliness.

An awful crack cleaved through the quiet. Jisung did not have to look up to know the boy had dislocated his shoulder.

“These two Luren hail from Glacea,” the queen told him, tone too light for the horror she’d brought upon the throne room. “I suppose the recent shift of power in their lands did not bode well for them. I didn’t think they migrated so far west, but I do not make it my job to know the patterns of animals.”

Jisung noted that both the sobbing woman and boy had the same ruddy hair and blotchy cheeks. _Gods above_ , he thought _, a mother and son._

His stepmother rose from the throne—because it would _never_ be her throne, not truly—and stood before the weeping mother.

Jisung didn’t have time to so much as gasp before the tip of the queen’s shoe came in contact with the mother’s face.

“Your whining makes me nauseous,” the queen sighed into the now-silent room, as if she’d only wiped a dust bunny off her skirts. All Jisung could look at was the blood running down the woman’s chin, a little garden of pain and helplessness. “Tell me, little one, what law of mine have you broken?”

Jisung felt his vocal cords contract and his lips move, but he did not remember choosing to speak. “How can he answer you like that?”

Oh, if only Jisung had stayed quiet. The queen didn’t turn away from the child as a grin blossomed on her cheeks. “Why _yes_ , my young prince, you’re quite right. He _can’t_ answer me like this.”

With a grin of black light, the queen took the sword of the guard at her right, who did not so much as flinch. She stalked over to where the rope suspending the boy met the ground. The blade sung as it rose above her head, reaching a crescendo as it was brought down in a great arc.

The sound of the boy’s body hitting the ground was a punch to Jisung’s gut.

The woman’s screams rose up anew as she dragged herself over to her son, both of them bloodied and bruised. Jisung put all his attention on schooling his features into indifference. He’d already done enough damage.

“Now, little one,” the queen cooed, “what law have you broken?”

Jisung knew there was no chance of the boy getting out a coherent response. His breathing was too laboured and his ribs surely too pained. And yet, with the Evil Queen glaring down at him, he seemed eager to do the impossible. “Tre—” He took a moment to gasp. “Trespassed onto your land bearing arms, Your Majesty.”

Unlikely. Jisung’s kingdom, Yoru, was surrounded on all sides except the south by Luren’s territory, and so a deal had been struck with his father: no weapons were to be carried by any party within one mile of the border, on either side. It was a hopeful deterrent of war, because Yoru would not survive an attack courtesy of the Luren.

The woman who now played dress-up with his mother’s crown had turned a tool of peace into a weapon of war. Every week there was an execution in this throne room, because of the twigs children carried or the arrowless bows wielded by scavenging mothers. _All of them, bloodthirsty rats,_ his stepmother had said. _If I could I’d outlaw their teeth and their claws—spay and neuter them so that they can terrorize my land no longer_.

He always tried to tune her out whenever she spoke, but it was inevitable that some things fell through the cracks. Now the numbers of Luren were much too low for their people to ever consider an all-out attack against Yoru. His people were safe.

Except that the biggest threat to their prosperity was the queen herself.

“And what is the punishment for that crime?”

He could see the boy’s lips wobble as he whimpered, “Death.”

How many lives had been lost to his stepmother? The queen must have been trying to stain the snow-white marble red.

 _Oh,_ he thought _, that little Lura girl in the forest. I hope she’s alright . . ._

“Tell me, young miss,” his stepmother said to the woman, “did you bring your son onto my land?”

Jisung only picked out pieces of her wet-voiced explanation. Brought her son for a hunt. Heard the noise of a grey wolf not far from them. Needed to move out of the wolf’s path—probably because of their reverence of the animal, Jisung figured. They hadn’t planned to cross onto the queen’s land.

But the queen did not care. “You admit to what you’ve done, though. You confess you brought your son onto my land, with _knives_ in your hand.”

Jisung couldn’t stand to listen to another minute of this. And yet, he did. He stood, and he listened, and he hurt for this small family that likely had other parts back home, worried and anxious. Would word ever reach them that these two had lost their lives? Would they hold out hope for their return?

He didn’t know which was worse.

Then, like the echo of a scream in a cave, Jisung knew there was a correction to be made. _My land_. _This is my land she’s painting red._ And that was infuriating in a way Jisung had never experienced. His crown was tinted crimson and wet to the touch, and that made him all the more desperate to finally have it in his hands. To lovingly clean it of blood and have it placed on his head with no personal vision in mind. Just the need to help his people.

“I would argue, though, that it was truly your mother’s fault for your trespassing.”

Jisung heard the spectators hold their breath. He, too, found himself unable to breathe. _What in the Three Hells is she planning?_

The queen walked forward and dragged the mother up by the collar. Blood ran down from her left eye as if punctured—and Jisung had little doubt that it was her eye that was bleeding. She stumbled up onto her feet, though not before the queen spun her around so that the mother’s back was to her. The queen slotted the sword into the mother’s hands—

And Jisung wished he were a siren or magics’ master, so that he may shatter the windows or cause a scene. Anything other than this infuriatingly human body of his that only allowed him to watch and gawk and fume. Because the queen was holding the mother’s hands over the sword’s hilt, forcing her into a mock warrior’s stance, sword poised at her son’s throat.

Surely the gods have turned away from his kingdom. He would have done the same, if he saw the tyranny that ruled it.

“Remember, little one,” the queen said, voice still mockingly gentle, “your mother offered you up to death the moment she brought you here. I’m only carrying out the rest of her deed.”

The boy looked up at his mother—only his mother, not one glance at the queen—and whispered, “ _Ak’nul tor yeoro_.”

Jisung looked away when he saw the blade drive forward. There was nothing to block out the sound of metal sinking into flesh, or the scream of agony belonging to a mother who bore her child’s blood on her hands. He likened it to the sound of a sword snapping in two, or strong winds tearing through a desert valley. The final breaking of a formidable force. A promise of emptiness.

He was lucky enough to miss the sound of the mother’s body dropping, red catching on the corner of his vision.

The queen was unabashed to throw the sword onto the two bodies. To step onto the mother’s hand and have her heel pierce skin.

“Now,” the queen huffed, tone light, “why don’t we proceed with today’s agenda. I do believe one of you needed to discuss the construction of a children’s hospital . . .”

Court members flocked the base of the queen’s throne. Bones snapped beneath their feet. As they slipped on blood, their only reaction was annoyance, disgust. Jisung slid in amongst them, quickly swiping the bracelets off the little boy’s cooling wrists.

He did not wait to be dismissed, though he surely would have been, regardless. He slunk out of the throne room, youthful blood searing the skin of his palm as he made for the castle doors. Because his stepmother was awaiting the news of his death, he was to go about his life without a guard’s protection. It had bothered him as a child. Sometimes, he still felt his gut churn at the thought of his stepmother hating him so profoundly.

But, as Jisung made a beeline for the Yoran border, he thought that perhaps it was a good thing the queen kept such a lazy eye on him.

After all, he might just commit high treason within the next twelve hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [curious cat!](https://curiouscat.qa/ahgaslayy)
> 
> [twitter!](https://twitter.com/svnsmayday)


End file.
